


Breaker Point

by neveralarch



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Seduction, sex injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Rodimus has a lot of important medical questions all of a sudden. About him, and Drift, and theamazingsex they're having,all the time. Ratchet is going to strangle someone.





	Breaker Point

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dez for helping me come up with approximately 1 fic plot every 15 minutes :)
> 
> This fic contains lots of talking about sex, sex injuries, jealousy, and a complete disregard for medical ethics. Please let me know if you need details.

It started innocuously enough. Ratchet was in his office, updating a few medical files, when Rodimus came in to grab some protection. Rodimus did that about once a week or so—Ratchet didn't know how he managed to use all of it up so fast, but that wasn't Ratchet's business. At least Rodimus was using protection in the first place. Ratchet was still annoyed about the three-hour lecture that had been necessary to convince Chromedome and Rewind that true love didn’t give you an immunity from recursive coding errors. 

Usually Rodimus darted in and out, looking ridiculously furtive while Ratchet ignored him. Today, Rodimus leaned into Ratchet's office with a grin that practically screamed trouble.

"I'm busy." Ratchet fixed his optics on his files so he wouldn’t have to look at Rodimus’ expression. "Unless it's a medical question."

"Yeah, totally." Rodimus held up a fist full of data blockers. "Can you show me how to use these?"

Ratchet gave Rodimus a flat glare. "I'm _busy_. You've used data blockers before. You use at least fifteen of those every week."

"Yeah, but I want to make sure I'm doing it right." Rodimus stared at the data blockers like they were a new and complex technology instead of basically a sticker you slapped over your contact points. "Drift and I frag all the time, I just can't get enough, and his spike is _so_ big—"

Ratchet's engine growled, and Rodimus' grin got wider. Oh, so that was the game. Rodimus was trying to rile Ratchet up and get a reaction. Too long between horrible disasters, apparently, and Rodimus had gotten bored. Well, Ratchet wasn’t interested in playing.

"I don't need to know about your sex life unless you've sprained something." Ratchet turned his chair and plucked a datachip out of a drawer. "Here. Remedial sex ed. For MTOs."

Rodimus took the datachip, but he looked disappointed. "Can't you just show me?"

"Unless you want to bring Drift and his massive spike into the medbay," began Ratchet, and then realized his mistake as soon as Rodimus perked up. "No. I was _joking_, Rodimus, don't you dare comm Drift—"

“I’m comming Drift,” announced Rodimus, and skipped backwards as Ratchet surged out of his chair with his hands outstretched to throttle.

It took Ratchet three minutes to chase Rodimus out of medbay, with Drift uncommed and the remedial sex ed chip chucked at the back of Rodimus’ helm. Ratchet stood in the hall and watched Rodimus scamper away, with his fists tight and his engine kicked up into second gear.

It wasn't like Ratchet cared that Drift was fragging Rodimus. Drift could frag whoever he wanted, and Rodimus was flexible, pretty, and apparently happy to take Drift's massive spike three or four times a day if that was really where all the data blockers were going. Ratchet had his own stuff going on. Like updating his medical files, and trying to get First Aid ready to take over as CMO. Drinking alone. That kind of thing.

Ratchet realized he was scowling at an empty hallway and stomped back into the medbay. His engine slowly powered down into idle as he finished his work and didn't think about Drift and Rodimus at all.

\---

The second time, Rodimus showed up with his spike out.

Actually out of his housing and with half the cables detached, leaving it limp in Rodimus' hand. Rodimus didn't even look embarrassed—he was wearing his usual slag-eating grin. Ratchet wanted to shake him and scream 'your fragging spike's falling off!'

"Tell me what happened," Ratchet said instead.

Rodimus hopped up onto the medical slab, his spike yawing unsettlingly from side to side. "Okay, so me and Drift were on the berth and Drift was riding me—he loves riding mechs, Ratchet, you wouldn't believe it, and his valve is so sweet and so tight—"

"This is going to pinch a little," said Ratchet, and yanked two of the severed cables out of their connections.

Rodimus winced but, unfortunately, kept going. "—Drift does this exercise while he's meditating, I think, to practice squeezing his valve? It’s like he has psychic control over his own frame, it’s wild. And he squeezed it, and then he _swiveled_, and then my spike, uh. Snapped."

"Your spike didn't snap." Ratchet pulled a couple pieces of fresh wiring out of the medical cart. "The hydraulics just lost power. Did you see any fluid leakage?"

"Yeah." Rodimus leaned back as Ratchet started putting his spike back together. "Drift gets so wet, just dripping, he loves taking spike and he loves getting it—"

Ratchet grit his teeth. "That's not what I was talking about. Was there any energon? Or internal oil?"

"No." Rodimus watched with interest as Ratchet brought out the welding kit. "Hey, is this going to hurt?"

"Not really," said Ratchet. It _wasn't_ going to hurt. Uncomfortable burning melting sensation wasn't the same as hurt.

"Gotcha." The brief flash of concern on Rodimus' face faded into thoughtfulness. "You know, maybe my spike just isn't sturdy enough for Drift. He needs someone solid, someone reliable, someone with the experience to use their magic wand to take Drift on the ride of a eeeeyeahahahaha! Ow!"

"Sorry," muttered Ratchet, and put the next piece of wire in place.

\---

After that, it seemed like something new came up every day. Rodimus spent too long eating out Drift's valve and dislocated his jaw. Rodimus tried to deep throat Drift's (massive) spike and knocked his voicebox down into his tank. Rodimus got burns on his tongue from licking Drift's _spark_. Ratchet tried to ban Rodimus from any kind of oral sex at all, but Rodimus just got a dreamy look in his optics and rambled about how Drift was so amazing, he'd never met anyone as hot and as good at sex as Drift, which had to be a lie because then Rodimus wouldn't keep coming to the medbay with a new ridiculous problem!

"Uh," said First Aid. "Yeah, I get it. Totally on the same page. No need to shout."

Ratchet took a deep breath and tried to force his engine down a gear. "Why is this happening now?"

First Aid shrugged. "I did some maintenance for Rodimus and Drift a couple times. Just normal things, though. Spike won't depressurize, spark burns on the hands, valve soreness. Not a broken spike."

"The spike wasn't actually broken, it was just the hydraulics," said Ratchet. "Rodimus came to me yesterday and asked if I could reformat his spine so he could be as flexible as Drift. Apparently _Drift_ can do a handstand while fragging, which why you would want to do that I don’t know, but—"

"You're shouting again," said First Aid.

"I am not the problem here!" snapped Ratchet, at First Aid, himself, and the ship at large.

"Is this a bad time?" asked Drift.

Ratchet's engine choked. First Aid had to slap him on the back to get his fuel pump restarted, and Drift was just there the whole time, hovering and making unnecessary observations about Ratchet's aura. Ugh, Ratchet didn't understand how Drift could be so smart, look so handsome, and sound so ridiculous at the same time.

"Did you need something?" croaked Ratchet at last.

"I actually wanted your advice," said Drift. "I, um, I had this sex position I wanted to try out, but Rodimus says he isn't strong enough to hold me on his shoulders for that long—"

"Stop," said Ratchet. He didn’t shout, because Drift didn’t deserve that, but he was firm. "If your relationship with Rodimus isn't satisfying you, talk to Rung, not to me."

"Rung?" Drift's optics widened. "I don’t want—I mean, I don't think Rung could support me on his shoulders either, but—"

"You don't need fancy sex positions or reformatted spines to have good sex," said Ratchet. "Slag, I had sex with damn near everyone in the medical program at the Iaconian Academy, and half the time we were trying to get off as quickly as possible before one of us fell asleep after a thirty-hour study session. You can have a great time with just your hands, your mouth, your array, and no trips to the medbay at all."

Drift looked stunned. His gaze kept flicking over Ratchet, like he was too embarrassed to let it settle on any one part of him. Ratchet's face, his hands, his—was Drift looking at Ratchet's _panel_?

"Could," said Drift, and then had to clear his voicebox and start again. "Could you give me a demonstration?"

Ratchet wanted to beat his helm against the wall. "Fine," he said, instead. "I'll meet you and Rodimus at his quarters after shift."

"Okay." Drift smiled, finally meeting Ratchet’s optics. "Thanks, Ratchet."

"Hey," said First Aid, after Drift had left. "What just happened?"

Ratchet had actually forgotten First Aid was there. Drift was just that magnetic—other mechs seemed to fade when he was in the room. "Nothing," Ratchet said. "Apparently I have to go show Drift and Rodimus how to bang their arrays together."

"Did you really have sex with everyone in the Iaconian Academy?" asked First Aid, fixating on probably the least important thing Ratchet had said in the last five minutes.

"Not in the Academy," said Ratchet. "But I made a pretty big dent in the medical students before I graduated."

"Did you, uh." Now First Aid was trying to drag his gaze away from Ratchet’s panel. "Did you? With Pharma?"

Ratchet didn't dignify that with an answer, but First Aid seemed to intuit the obvious one anyway. 

\---

Ratchet could hear arguing as he neared Rodimus' quarters. He shouldn't have listened, but he found himself stopping outside the door. Well, it was only reasonable to want to know exactly how things stood before he tried to intervene.

"Why's he coming here?" Rodimus' voice sounded a little panicked. "I thought you were going to—"

"I did!" Drift sounded _very_ panicked. "And he said he wanted you and your room! I think this is couple's therapy."

"Huh." Rodimus was quiet for an amazing quarter of a second. "Hey, do you think Ratchet is into _me_?"

Ratchet knocked, loud enough to drown out Rodimus' bizarre speculation. "Hello? You in there?"

The door slid open to reveal Drift's smiling face. Rodimus was lying on the berth, hip and spoiler cocked alluringly.

"Ratchet." Rodimus smoldered at him. "I hear you're going to show me how it's done."

"Yeah," said Ratchet, and pulled out the mini-projector. "Did you want to start with the intermediate positions, or the beginning ones?"

Drift's smile was becoming progressively more strained. He was letting his fangs show, the same way he did when someone was shooting at him.

"What about... advanced?" rasped Rodimus. Was that supposed to be sexy? It just sounded like he’d crushed his vocal tubing. Again.

"Beginner it is." Ratchet aimed the projector at a bare wall (bare except for a Rodimus Star painted at 50 times life size), and started the lecture.

Drift sat attentively on the berth next to Rodimus, even took a couple notes, but Rodimus quickly shifted from aesthetically lounging to plain bored as Ratchet slowly explained the basics of penetration. "I thought this was going to be a practical lesson," Rodimus whined. "I don't even need to be here!"

"Excuse me?" Ratchet paused the slides. "You don't need to be here?"

Rodimus jerked upright. "I just meant—"

"You don't need to _be_ here?" repeated Ratchet. "You don't need to learn the best and safest ways to please your partner? To please Drift? To give Drift the care you're clearly failing to provide every time you wander into my medbay with another injury caused by too many fantasy cycles? You don't need information on how to make Drift _happy_ instead of chasing the stupid thrill of sucking your own spike?"

"I never tried to suck—"

"Drift deserves three of you," snapped Ratchet. "He's remade himself over and over again, he's intelligent, he's kind, but for some reason he believes in ridiculous things like crystal healing and your ability to give him a nice simple frag!"

Ratchet stopped because his engine was roaring and also because Rodimus looked worryingly gleeful.

"Crystals can't _heal_ mechs," said Drift, "but if you combine them at the right frequencies, they can—"

"You like him!" Rodimus jumped up from the berth and grabbed Drift's arm. "Babe, it worked! Kiss him!"

"What do you mean, it worked?" said Ratchet.

Drift glanced between Rodimus and Ratchet. "I don't know if I should—"

Rodimus ignored both of them, hauled Drift off the berth, and almost flung him at Ratchet. Ratchet didn't really have any option except to catch Drift in his arms. Drift was heavy, his light-weight outer armor disguising a powerful core, and his engine was revving in short little gasps. He looked into Ratchet's optics, and his lips parted, his tongue darted out to lick them, and—

"Kiss him," hissed Rodimus. "Kiss. Kiss. Kiss."

Ratchet looked at the wet shine of Drift's lips and then had to offline his optics before his processor decided that was all the information he needed. "What the frag is going on?"

Drift sighed. "Rodimus had an idea."

"A great idea," crowed Rodimus. "With lots of personal sacrifices, bravely made in the service of being the best wingmech of all time!"

Ratchet wasn't a dumb mech. He could put pieces together into a horrifically ugly jigsaw. "You've been faking sex injuries to seduce me."

"Hey, none of these have been faked," said Rodimus. "That broken spike really hurt!"

"For the last time, your spike wasn't broken." Ratchet risked onlining one optic. "Drift, you could've just asked if I wanted to frag."

Drift winced. "I didn't know what I'd do if you said no. I don’t just want to frag."

"Well, I won't say no." Ratchet finally allowed himself to smile at Drift, the way he always wanted to. “And we don’t have to frag at all if you don’t want to.”

Drift licked his lips again. “I didn’t say _that_. Your speech was pretty inspiring.”

Ratchet’s processor saw those wet lips again and, as predicted, gave up on speech, logic, and anything except leaning in and kissing Drift. Deeply. Thoroughly. With great care not to cut himself on Drift's fangs.

Rodimus whooped a couple times, but as the kiss went on Ratchet could hear Rodimus shuffling his feet.

"I guess I'll get out of here," said Rodimus, when Ratchet finally leaned back so he could see exactly what he'd done to Drift. "Drift, can I crash at your place?"

"Stay," said Ratchet. Drift slowly brought one hand up to touch his mouth, gentle and reverent, like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"I don't want to cramp your style." Rodimus laughed awkwardly. "I'll, just, uh—"

"Rodimus, it's your room," said Ratchet. "And your plan. And your stupid spike hydraulics. Stay."

"Like, to watch?" Rodimus made a face. "I know I'm the greatest wingmech of all time, but—"

"I was thinking I could ride you," said Ratchet. "Get you flat on your back and watching my aft bounce while I use your spike as a seat. And then if Drift stands at the edge of the berth, I can just lean forward and take his _massive_ spike into my throat. Using proper procedure so it won't knock my voicebox out of place."

Drift snorted. "It's not actually that big." 

"Oh, but I've heard so much about it." Ratchet kissed Drift again, then glanced over at Rodimus. "Well?"

Rodimus was already on the berth with his panels open and his hands spread invitingly around his spike. Ratchet revised his estimate of the kid. He could be annoying, sure, but he clearly didn't have a problem with following the right kind of instruction.

"All right." Ratchet unlocked his panels and heard both Drift and Rodimus moan at the clicking sound. "Let's get this show on the road. Where’s your data blockers?"

“Um,” said Rodimus.

“Don’t um me, you have half my supplies!”

“I’ll just, uh,” Rodimus started to push himself up from the berth. “I’ll go and get—“

“No, no.” Drift reached for the door. “You stay here, I’ll go.”

“No one go anywhere.” Ratchet was damned if he was going to be teased another second. “I’m comming First Aid.”

First Aid wasn’t especially happy about delivering data blockers direct to Rodimus’ door, but Ratchet was still CMO and he could declare his empty valve a medical emergency if he wanted to. The important thing, the really important thing, was that Drift and Rodimus turned out to be actually pretty good at sex. With a little bit of help.

They weren’t half bad at seduction either.

**Author's Note:**

> You can share this fic on [tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/186799738829/breaker-point-neveralarch-the-transformers), [twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1158488218125447168?s=20), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/102097.html)!


End file.
